


The Quiet (and Weird) Life of Nelson Mandela the Demigod

by BardicRaven



Category: Oxford Comma sentences, Spelling and Grammar (Fandom)
Genre: Collectors, Comma Play, Demigods, Dildos, Gen, Museums, Playing with the English Language, Sex Toys, Spelling & Grammar, Strange things people collect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you start playing with the Oxford Comma, and its aftermath. Or, when Nelson Mandela the Demigod opens a museum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet (and Weird) Life of Nelson Mandela the Demigod

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/gifts).



> ##### A bit of strangeness that fell out of my brain as I was editing something else.
> 
> ##### You're welcome.
> 
> ##### Happy Yuletidings! :-) 
> 
> ##### Yule-Goat-to-be-named-later

It was a quiet life, albeit strange, this life that Nelson Mandela the demigod lived, collecting dildos, and, by and large, keeping to himself beyond that. He'd been named after the man of peace to come, in that way that Time had of folding in on itself. Perhaps because of that he felt a bit detached from everything, even, and perhaps especially, his fellow demigods.

Perhaps that is why he turned to such a strange hobby, especially for one who, by his very nature, was in theory, at least, for all various of them proved to the contrary, supposed to be above all that.

Or perhaps it was because of that very example that he chose such a collection. After all, demi-gods came about because gods couldn't keep it in their pants. Or togas. Or whatever.

For whatever reason, Nelson Mandela the demigod (He always felt the need to clarify that, as if otherwise, he was somehow tainting the good name of the good man he would be named after later. Or was that before? He never could keep track of things like that.) had turned to a life of interesting strangeness collecting, of all things, dildos.

Affirming life? Affirming godhood? Affirming humanity? Affirming an excess, or lack, on his own part? (Demigods being somewhat fluid in that capacity, as in many others.) 

He was never sure. What he WAS sure of, however, was that he loved his collection. Long, short, thick, thin, rubber and stone and bone and wood – he loved them all.

And over eight centuries on this planet had given him a lot of options to choose from for his collection. Exploring a German cave had led to his oldest treasure, a siltstone relic from a vastly older time. He wondered what had led them to create such an artifact, when needs were great and resources were few, and in what context it had been used – had it been used for private pleasure or public ritual? Or both?

Exploring a sex shop in the slums of Amsterdam led to his newest – a vastly more modern contraption of rubber, which managed to both look more comfortable and contain far less soul than its ancient counterpart.

And a lady in the United States gave him one of his most treasured – a hand-crocheted one from the ones she made to help bring peace to the topic of sexuality – her way of helping the world.

Each piece had a story to tell. Each piece its own history, meaning, and context. He loved that. He loved that about them all. 

And maybe that was part of why he collected them, even tho' his fellow demigods thought he was more than a bit odd for doing so – each piece was a story, not only of sex, but of love. Not always the love between two (or more) people, or even one, but the love of a person and their society, the love of a society for its traditions.

Or for its lack of traditions. The rebels, the misfits, the people who simply wanted to have fun. 

Eight-hundred years is a long time to be alive and long enough to have seen, if not all, then a great deal. 

Wars all too often and all too seldom, peace.

Famine, plague, pestilence, all the ills of humankind, over and over and over and over again. It could make you long for the simplicity of sex. 

The life-affirming aspect of sex. Even when it could not lead to procreation, still, sex had a way of reminding you that you were alive, that you were connected to a universe far larger than yourself. It was a chance for pleasure, something often all too rare in this world, and in this context, sex with few consequences other than pleasure, which could be even more rare.

So, far from condemning those who used such things, he celebrated them. Honored them, in his own way, through his collection.

Eventually, he came upon the notion of sharing his collection with the world. He decided, upon reflection, to open a museum. There had been stranger things in this world, after all, that had become the foci of museums, so why not dildos? At least they had a measure of use in this world, and Goodness knew, the world could use some good discussion on the topic. (He knew because he'd asked the anthropomorphic personification himself. And Goodness had replied 'Hell, yes!'. Which might be a little odd for an anthropomorphic personification named Goodness to say, but there you go. The Universe is nothing if not filled with oddities of all sorts, shapes, and sizes. Including dildos, and those who love them, and those who think that yes, there should be museums created to feature them.)

So that is what he did. To avoid adding unnecessary notoriety to any particular place on Earth, he put it into a half-dimension neatly between this world and the Otherworld, with an outlet on an otherwise unremarkable street in downtown Poughkeepsie, simply because he could.

He did his best to display his items as tastefully as possible, while still not holding back from showing what they were and what they were for.

When he was open for business, he found himself with a small, but steady, stream of visitors, finding their way to his museum by his Poughkeepsie front door. For the most part, he found them pleasant and eager to be informed. Anyone who wasn't found themselves summarily ejected, and when they tried to find the front door again, found themselves in a quite different establishment, which one depending on how rude and/or annoying they had been.

Eventually, he found himself establishing front doors in other cities as well: New York, Chicago, London, Paris, Cologne, Sydney, Mumbai, Capetown. And he found himself being quite thankful for his demigod status as he started receiving more and more visitors, because he was able to be in more than one place at the same time, so that he could provide docent services to all who asked. It was important to him that his collection be received properly - this wasn't about titillation, tho' he was fine with it if that happened. No, it was more than that - it was an expression of humanity at its most basic, and he wanted to help people understand that.

He loved his museum, and almost all his visitors, and he loved evicting the rest, so it turned out to be a quite pleasant way to spend this part of his eternity – collecting dildos and sharing them with the world.

He found himself being thankful to that person in the modern world who had created him – for all such beings have at their heart an earthly creator. 

Sometimes, a comma more or less made all the difference.


End file.
